


Getting Out Alive

by flannelfeelings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alastair hurts Castiel, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Humor, Cas smokes, Castiel-centric, Chubby Dean, Confident Cas, Cute Dean, Cutesy, Dean Saves Castiel, Dean is Not Amused, Dean is very funny, Eventual Cas and Dean, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Dean, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Consensual, Physical Abuse, Power Bottom Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Sassy Castiel, Surfer Dean, Top Dean, Verbal Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 03:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2566772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flannelfeelings/pseuds/flannelfeelings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel has never been one to let people walk all over him. Until of course, he started dating the douchiest fucking person on planet Earth.</p><p>He just wants out, he wants to stop getting hurt and taken advantage of. </p><p>Maybe a dorky, freckled, coffee shop employee can help him out with his escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Surfer and the Slut

**Author's Note:**

> ok here's chapter one of a story I've been contemplating! Hope you like it! If you do, there's more to come :)
> 
> Please read the tags for trigger warnings and such!
> 
> Enjoy and let me know your thoughts :)

“Are you nervous or something?”

“...No?”

Castiel shifts on his feet, gnawing on his lower lip as he watches the fluid movements of his own body in the mirror.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

He curses, straightening his body and shaking out his tense limbs, “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Go again.”

His knuckles hit the bag again. More sharp bursts of pain dance up his hand, clinging to his bones. He ignores the zing of discomfort and continues to rhythmically pound his fist against the punching bag. Sweat beads down his temples and he blinks away the wetness in his eyes as he proceeds to punch the bag.

“Pretend it’s someone you hate, huh?”

He ignores Anna’s suggestions and tries to focus on his hits. He’s been at it for hours, and he can feel lassitude begin to settle over his muscles.

“Harder Castiel!”

With a frustrated grunt, he brings his arm back and slams it against the bag. The material of the bag slaps against his skin as it flops around with the force of his hit. He steps back and sucks in a desperately needed gulp of air, watching the bag as it begins to slow down and return to it’s still position, hanging from the ceiling of the dance room.

“Nicely done.” Anna says as she leans down and scoops up her duffel, “Same time tomorrow?”

Castiel runs a hand through his damp hair, panting, “Yeah. Thanks.”

She pats his sweat-slicked arm as she exits, “You’ll get there Castiel, don’t beat yourself up over this.”

He shakes his head, “I just- I just want to feel strong enough to defend myself.”

His sister smiles slightly, gently running her fingers over the blackened, swollen condition of the skin around his left eye, “I wish you’d tell me who did this.”

“It was just a freak thing.” he insists, “I told you, the guy was probably drunk.”

Well, he’s half honest. His boyfriend had been drunk when he’d swung his fist at Castiel.

Anna nods, sighing, “If I ever meet the asshole who hurt you, I’m going to kick his ass.”

 _You’ve met him. Many times. He bought you a sweater last Christmas_.

Castiel smiles, “You’re the best big sister anyone could ask for.”

“I know. See you later.” she waves goodbye, and just as quickly as she’d come, she’s gone. Castiel sighs, leaning down to collect his things and head out.

* * *

 

This bookstore smells of cinnamon and apple pie. Castiel loves coming here. It’s his escape; the little hidden bookstore on the boardwalk, surrounded by tourist attractions and gift shops. There are two stories, filled to the brim with books and music and old pictures. He’d just had enough time to change out of his sweaty workout clothes, that had to be long sleeved to hide the abrasions on his arms. He feels more casual now in his jeans and black sweater, but he probably smells like a gym sock. Hopefully, he can get in, find some new reading material, maybe get a snack, and then be out without seeing anyone he knows.

Besides, the last thing he wants is someone asking about the nasty black eye on his face. Alastair isn’t usually so obvious with his abuse, he’s refrained from hurting Castiel anywhere visible. This past weekend was...it was a bad one. He pushes that thought away and enters the bookstore with vigor. He can hear the sound of the waves of San Diego beating against the rocks outside, and it makes him smile as he browses for something good. He settles on a battered copy of _Fahrenheit 451_ because he could read it until his eyes bleed.

He brings it to the counter where an unfamiliar clerk is working. Castiel has never seen this guy before, but he’s glad he is now. He’s tall and broad shouldered, a little pudgy in the gut, with muscles shaping his biceps. His jaw is cut almost like a Ken doll’s, and his jade eyes are framed by surprisingly long lashes. Suntanned California skin, freckled cheeks and broad pink lips tie together the ridiculously attractive features of the unfamiliar man.

“Hello.” he says amiably, although his heart is hammering in his chest cavity.

The clerk turns to face him completely, and smiles in a way that could lead a nun to abandon her chaste vows, “What’s up man?”

“Just this.” Castiel holds the book up with a slight smile.

The cashier quirks an eyebrow up as he tilts his head sideways and whistles, “Jesus dude, where’d you get the shiner?”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably, “I got in a fight with a car door, and the door won.”

He seems doubtful, but he appears to understand that Castiel isn’t interested in discussing his injury, “Alright dude, you got it. Just the book then? ‘Cause I just pulled a fresh apple pie out of the oven and let me tell you, it’s godly.”

Castiel smiles a little, entranced by this man’s ability to look beautiful even while talking about food, “Maybe I’ll have a slice.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

The man begins rummaging for something behind the counter and produces a disposable plate. He removes the top from a cake platter and cuts a hefty slice of apple pie, plopping it on the plate. Castiel can smell the desert from the other side of the counter, and he has to admit, his mouth waters. The cashier places the plate on the counter and bags Castiel’s book, ringing them up, “That’ll be $12.00.”

Castiel digs a weathered twenty from his wallet and passes it to the clerk. He quickly makes the change and smiles as he hands the money back, “Enjoy the book and the pie.”

“I will, thank you…?”

“Dean.”

Castiel smiles, “I will, thank you Dean.”

Castiel brings the plate and his book to a nearby circular table, and sits down to eat. Dean was certainly right, the pie is amazing. He tries to savor it, really he does, but it’s gone within minutes and he’s licking crumbs from his lips with despair.

He gets up to dispose of the plate and silverware, stopping once more by the counter, “Dean was it? Thanks for the recommendation. Great pie.”

Dean grins, which ultimately serves to make Castiel’s heart pound erratically, “No problem. If it was nearly as sweet as you I’m sure it had to be great.”

Castiel stares; dumbfounded. He’s pretty sure this gorgeous guy just complimented him, but he can’t be positive.

He hesitates, gaging the reaction of the clerk before responding, “Well, it tasted as delicious as you look.”

Dean’s face splits into a grin, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Castiel.”

“Huh, Castiel.” He leans down and scribbles something on the back of a piece of notebook paper, handing it to Castiel, “There’s my number. Enjoy the book Cas.”

Castiel’s face is hot, “I will. See you around Dean.” 

* * *

 

Castiel savors the drive home. It’s the space in between being free from Alastair and facing him again. He listens to his music, music that his boyfriend can’t stand. He pretends he didn’t just flirt with a coffee shop clerk. He prepares to be on his best behavior, as to avoid getting the shit beaten out of him. He pulls into the driveway, licking his lips nervously. He’s had some time to decompress. He thinks back to the punching bag, and tells himself if Al gets too rowdy, he’ll defend himself. It’ll be different this time. He can take care of himself. It’ll be different tonight. He climbs out of the car and trudges up the driveway to the front door, unlocking it and stepping inside. The silver wall sconce beside the door jiggles when he slams the door. He stiffens; he hadn’t meant to close the door so harshly.

Dean’s phone number weighs two tons in his back pocket.

He steps into the hall, taking a shaky breath before calling out, “Alastair? I’m home!”

Footsteps thud on the stairs. His heart slams unevenly inside his chest. He swallows nervously and brushes hair out of his eyes, hoping he looks somewhat presentable.

Alastair stops at the foot of the stairs, his sandy hair bathed in light from the setting sun outside, “Where’ve you been all day?”

“I visited with Anna.” Castiel replies carefully, hiking his bag a little higher on his shoulder.

Alastair closes the distance between them, “Let me see your bag.” There’s no use arguing. There never is. Al digs through the backpack, nose wrinkling in disdain when he pulls the damp workout clothes from the bag. He looks up at Castiel, “What’s this?”

“You know Anna’s a gymnast. We were working out.”

Alastair eyes Castiel cautiously, “Working out huh? What for?”

Castiel forces a smile, but it feels like a grimace, “I know you said I’ve been getting a little chubby lately. I thought you’d like me to get in shape.”

Castiel hates that he has to swallow his love for his body in front of Alastair. He’s not fucking chubby, he’s slim. He’s all sharp edges and flat tones. He wishes he could _gain_ a little weight in fact, but Alastair is so fucking nervous that Cas will get too fat and that he won’t enjoy fucking him without his consent anymore.

Al nods contemplatively, “Good. Don’t lose too much though, don’t want any other guys getting ideas.”

Castiel shifts so Dean’s phone number etches a little deeper into his pocket, “Of course honey.”

“Right. Now c’mon you’re late, make me some dinner then you can shower.”

“Of course honey.”

Castiel sets his bag down on the stairs and heads into the kitchen to make a sub-par version of a meal he’d be much better at if he gave a fuck about it’s consumer. He hates cooking for Alastair. He hates that he has to do things for his fucked up boyfriend. He hates that he’s become a slave in his own home, a victim of circumstance. He hates that he’s a statistic. One in thousands of abusive relationships all over California.

When Al’s spaghetti is done, Cas heads upstairs to shower, wanting nothing more than to be away from him. He scrubs his body meticulously, mulling over the conversation with Dean today. It’s not foreign for Castiel to flirt with people outside of his home, after all, he’s never been the most faithful person. He’s not a cheater, but it’s in his nature to be salacious and flirty.

Besides, he doesn’t feel a bit guilty about fucking flirting with other people when Alastair treats him like dirt. He knows he deserves better. He hates Alastair. He doesn’t love him, he doesn’t want to stay, but he can’t figure out how to leave. Al will always find him. He’ll always end up hurt and terrified and hating himself for not being strong enough to get what he deserves.

He’s pretty sure Al’s abusive behavior stems from some sort of fucked up childhood trauma or maybe it’s a weird power dynamic that being bullied left him with, but he will never feel bad for him. He will never make excuses. Alastair is an asshole, and Castiel is trapped beneath the rule of a dictator.

He shuts off the water, trembling when cold air hits his damp skin. There’s a single, unfathomable moment of silence in which Castiel can feel his heartbeat pump in his ears. His breathing quickens as the silence is shattered by the door opening. Alastair steps in, sticking his head into the steam-filled bathroom.

“Hurry up. I’m in the mood.”

_What a casanova._

Castiel bites back the sarcastic remark he so desperately wants to make and steps out of the shower, toweling off and striding nude into the adjoining bedroom. Alastair is already laying flat on the bed in nothing but boxers, lube in hand, gnarly smirk plastered across his face. Castiel can’t help but imagine how much better Dean would look in the same position.

He shakes the thought away and nears the bed, preparing to shed himself of his dignity and succumb to the submissive state Alastair’s presence awakens in his body. Climbing up on the bed, he positions himself ass-in-the-air just the way Al likes it. He can feel Alastair inside him, fingers digging into his hips as he takes Castiel for himself. This is where he shuts down, becomes the hollow shell of someone that once was. He closes his eyes, breathing evenly through his nose as Alastair grunts and groans behind him, taking too much pleasure in a robotic partner. Castiel doesn’t even try to fake it anymore. Alastair doesn’t care. When he finishes, Al pulls out and Castiel falls flat on the bed, face buried in a pillow.

Al slaps his ass and says, “Gonna go shower. Clean yourself up.”

Castiel wishes he could remember what it’s like to be in love with your lover.

* * *

 

It’s dangerous to sneak out, especially with the attitude he’s been giving Al recently, but Castiel doesn’t care. It’s not like he’ll be spared the next beating just because he’s being well behaved. Alastair kicks the shit out of him no matter what. Might as well try to live between the beatings. It’s a quick drive down to the nearest beach. It’s late now, probably around midnight, but there are still night surfers and excited tourists milling about.

He chuffs down through the sand, kicking the soft grain away from his loafers as he plops down on his butt in front of the dark water. He digs through his pockets for the carton of cigarettes, bringing one to his lips and lighting it eagerly. The moon casts dim light over the waves, making the white seafoam almost glow with earthy light. Cigarette between his lips, _Fahrenheit_ in hand, squinting in the dim moonlight, Castiel leans back in the sand and reads.

He’s just getting to the part where Mildred’s stomach needs pumping, when a voice asks, “Cas? That you?”

He tilts his head up in surprise, “Dean?”

Dean’s standing above him, wearing nothing but red swim shorts. His damp chest is dripping with droplets of saltwater, his sandy brown hair moist with the same thing. Tucked under one of his shapely arms is a green surfboard. It’s smaller than some of the ones Castiel has seen, but he’s not a surfer so he doesn’t know the difference.

“I didn’t know you came to this beach,” Dean’s face splits into a grin as he plops down beside Castiel, setting his surfboard down in the sand.

Cas pulls the cigarette from his lips and blows a puff of smoke away from Dean’s face, “Same to you. You surf?”

“Been surfing since I was six.” his grin spreads, and Castiel can swear he hears the gods sigh at the sight of that beautiful smile, “ever try it?”

Cas shakes his head, “No I’m not exactly athletic.”

Dean purses his lips, “Want to try it?”

Cas turns towards him, inhaling from the cigarette and exhaling slowly, “I’m out of shape.”

“Surfers come in all shapes.”

“I don’t have a swimsuit.”

“Your boxers will suffice.”

Arching an eyebrow inquisitively, Castiel responds, “I’d love to, but no thank you.”

Dean eyes him, gaze trailing down over Castiel’s long sleeved sweatshirt and black sweatpants, “It’s 90 degrees.”

“I like to dress conservatively.”

“What on Earth are you conserving?”

 _Your innocence. Trust me, you do not want to see these bruises_.

“My virtue.” he says with an eye-roll, finishing off the cigarette and flattening into the sand before flicking the butt into a nearby trashcan.

Dean contemplates this before replying, “I have a wetsuit you can wear.”

Cas’ head jerks towards Dean with interest. _Wetsuit huh_? Those cover just about everything. And Cas has always wanted to try surfing.

“That I could get into.” Castiel replies amiably.

Dean’s grin is back, “Hell yeah! Gonna teach the bookworm a sport!”

Castiel follows Dean through the sand up to the parking lot, where his 1967 Chevy Impala is parked. Dean rummages through the trunk of the beautiful car and produces a body-tight wetsuit that has long sleeves and legs.

“Fantastic.” Cas tells him with a smirk. He changes quickly in the privacy of Dean’s backseat, and then stumbles back out on to the pavement, “these things are uncomfortable.”

Dean laughs as they begin trekking back to the sand, “That’s why I wear swimming trunks.”

The water is warmer than Cas would expect. It’s low tide now, but there are still some eccentric waves. Dean brings him waist-deep into the water, giving him a moment to adjust.

“What about sharks?” Cas inquires, although he’s not all too worried. So big deal, a shark eats him. At least he’d be away from Alastair.

Dean shrugs, “Try to stay in your own territory and they won’t mess with you. They’re just being sharks.”

Castiel laughs, “Right of course. Now how do I do this?”

“I figure you’ll need to practice balancing on this first.” Dean pats the board, “need help getting on?”

“No I’ve got it.” Cas climbs up on the rickety board, trying to steady himself with the ebb and flow of the waves.

“Just try to stand on it for a while.” Dean suggests.

Cas nods and obliges, standing shakily on the board. Dean helps out by holding the board steady, telling Cas just to stay there for a bit.

“So?” Dean asks as Cas focuses on his balance, “how smart is it to let a complete stranger bring you into the ocean at night?”

“Oh what’ve I got to lose? If you try to murder me it’ll be a great story to tell the grandkids some day.”

Dean bellows with laughter deep from his belly, “You’re funny.”

“Thanks.”

“So are we gonna talk about the black eye or not?”

Cas stumbles, losing his balance and slipping off the board. He tumbles into the water, coughing and spluttering as he returns to the surface.

“Oh that’s okay Cas, just get back on the horse.”

Cas grumbles as he climbs back on, steadying himself in a standing position, “I already told you what happened. Car door hit me.”

“Who’s Car Door? He sounds like a real tool.”

“Shut up,” Cas refrains from laughing, suppressing a smile, “okay I got in a fight.”

“There it is. Who won?”

_Alastair. He always wins._

“Me.”

“Oh yeah? You?”

“Why do you sound so doubtful?”

“Nothing you’re just...a little scrawny is all.”

Cas dips his foot into the water and splashes Dean. Dean falls back, coughing and laughing as he swipes at his eyes, “You asked for it!” He grips the board and before Cas can do anything he tips it sideways. Cas cries out and falls sideways, plunging into the water.

His head breaks the surface moments later and he eagerly splashes Dean again. Of course it turns into a full-blown splash war, in which two grown men are hitting each other with handfuls of seawater.

By the time it’s over they’re both panting and laughing and Castiel has almost forgotten about the beating that awaits him at home.


	2. The Way You Look Tonight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: mentions of bullying, homophobia, drug use, domestic abuse, it gets pretty graphic so read with discretion!
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts :) More to come!

Castiel enters to the sound of “ _The way you look tonight._ ” It’s disgustingly cheery. The happy, upbeat music filters through the house in the early hours of the morning. His hair is stiff and salty, his body exhausted from the attempt at surfing.

_With each word...your tenderness grows…_

He swallows hard, setting down his sandy book on the mantel and stepping further into the house.

_Lovely...never ever change…. Cause I loooove you….just the way you look…._

_...Tonight….._

“Alastair?” he calls out timidly. The record scratches off abruptly, filling the room to capacity with silence. Castiel freezes, body going completely rigid and throat constricting as footsteps replace the quiet.

“Where have you been?” Alastair asks in a serene voice.

Cas whirls around to face him, swallowing hard. His face is completely expressionless, dark eyes void of emotion. His hands are still at his sides, and his hair is the same color as the rising sun. Castiel hadn’t meant to spend hours with Dean. He hadn’t meant to get caught up in those viridescent green eyes and lose the hours to fulfilling conversation.

“I was at the beach.” he responds carefully, keeping his chin high, “I went swimming.”

“You left, without my permission.” Alastair growls, lurching forward and grabbing Cas’ upper arm, “you left me here all alone! Who the fuck were you swimming with?”

“N-no one.” Cas chokes out, hating himself for cowering in fear, “just me!”

“I found this.” he rummages through his pajama pocket and holds up the crinkled paper that displays Dean’s phone number, “in your jeans. Who the fuck is Dean?”

“He’s just a friend.” Castiel insists, trying without success to wriggle out of Alastair’s hold, “just a friend, I promise!”

“You lie to me.” Al snarls, his painful grip on Cas’ arm tightening, “you’re a slut.”

“No I’m not!” Al’s hand whizzes across his cheek, making him gasp. With his free arm, he touches his fingers tentatively to his burning face and manages, “Don’t hit me!”

“Don’t you tell me what to do,” his voice remains even, calm, “you don’t tell me what to do with my property now.”

“Please?”

His attempts are futile. Alastair seems to forget his “no hitting on the face” rule. Castiel can feel each tendon of strength pulse through his face as Al’s knuckles crack against his other eye. Surely there’s going to be to black eyes on his face now. The class ring on his finger tears into Castiel’s bottom lip, producing a steady stream of blood that tastes like salt and makes him nauseous. His fist cracks against Castiel’s nose, which makes his already labored breathing nearly extinct. Al grabs a handful of his raven hair, tugging him to the floor and pressing his elbow into Castiel’s throat.

_Harder Castiel! Pretend it’s someone you hate!_

His sisters words swirl in his mind.

_Don’t apologize._

_Harder!_

Castiel’s fist jerks forward without really getting confirmation with his brain that it’s okay. His knuckles collide with Alastair’s nose and he stumbles back, releasing Cas of his weight. In shock, Cas rolls on his side and pushes himself up, staring down at the groaning Alastair and the blood on Castiel’s hand. Holy shit. Alastair is on his feet just as quickly, blood trickling out of his nostrils.

His chest heaves with rage, and his eyes burn with a murderous disbelief, “How dare you!?” he roars, grabbing the front of Castiel’s shirt and dragging him so their bloody faces are inches away.

For the first time in two years, it had felt like an even fight. Like Castiel had a chance. The feeling is gone now. Al drags him through the hall into the kitchen, slamming him against the fridge. His head thumps against the cold, hard exterior of the fridge as he watches through blurred vision. Al begins rummaging around in one of the drawers. Cas figures he’s about to die. That was the last straw, and Al’s about to produce a kitchen knife and tear out Cas’ intestines with it.

But he turns around with a cigarette lighter in hand and a pack of Castiel’s _Menthols_ in the other. He slips one out and sticks it between his lips before lighting it. Alastair stands in front of Cas, keeping eye contact with his terrified partner while he smokes the cigarette. Halfway through, he grabs Cas’ wrist with his free hand and pulls his arm close. He pushes Castiel’s sleeve up, one that already hides several scars and bruises, and brings the cigarette a centimeter away from his ivory skin.

Cas understands instantly, “n-no Alastair don’t.”

Al’s lips curl up into a bitter, reptilian smirk, “you pulled an attitude boy. I gotta show you what happens when you fuck with me.”

“No please.” Cas pleads, “you don’t have to- _ah_!”

Al presses the lit cigarette a little harder into Cas’ forearm, chuckling as Cas screams and tries to pull away. His grip on Castiel’s wrist tightens as he burns slowly up Cas’ arm. Cas wants to preserve his dignity by holding his breath and suffering through the pain, but he can’t help the shrieks that echo off the kitchen walls. The record player sputters to life again, the lyrics layering over Castiel’s screams of agony.

_Cause I looove you….just the way you look… tonight…._

* * *

 

Cas grumbles under his breath in pain, dragging the concealer a little tighter over his blackened eye. He blends it a little more and powders his face again. Stepping back to admire his work in the bathroom mirror, he sighs quietly. The makeup helped only slightly. His split lip is still inherently visible, and his purplish eyes are still clearly injured. Dejectedly, he removes his cell phone and dials Anna’s number.

She answers on the second ring, “Hey Castiel! I was just about to leave to meet you at the studio.”

“Don’t go,” he tells her, trying to sound convincing, “I can’t make it today. I didn’t get much sleep last night I- I’m really exhausted.”

“Oh alright. We still on for tomorrow?”

He figures he’ll have to come up with another bullshit lie tomorrow, but he responds, “Absolutely. See you then. Thanks sis.”

“No problem hon, see you then. Feel better!”

He wasn’t being completely dishonest. He is exhausted, he’d gotten home this morning at around 4 AM and his fight with Al had lasted an hour. By that time he was too wound up to sleep, and Alastair had to leave for work at six thirty anyway. Cas misses working, but Al made him quit his job as soon as he realized there was a gorgeous guy in the cubicle across from Cas. Now he’s condemned to this fucking house. He treads around the carpet. Al expects him to stay home today and tidy up. He’s yet to begin cleaning, and it’s already noon.

Just as he’s about to bust out the vacuum, his phone rings. He expects it to be Anna, begging him to come to their session anyway, but it’s an unknown caller.

“Hello?” he answers with confusion.

“Hey Cas!”

Holy shit.

“Dean? How’d you get my number?”

“You gave it to me last night, remember? Before we left the beach.”

Oh fuck.

“Oh yeah, I did didn’t I?”

“Anyway, I’m calling to see if you’re busy right about now.”

_No Cas, don’t. Do you seriously want to get fucked up again?_

“Yeah I’m free! What did you have in mind?”

 _You’re an absolute idiot_.

“Well I was thinking we could get some lunch and then go from there.”

“Sounds great. Where at, I’ll meet you?”

“That place by the beach we were yesterday? The one with the awesome fish tacos?”

“Cool. See you in twenty?”

“Awesome!”

Castiel hangs up and crosses the room worriedly. He’s an idiot, he knows. He shouldn’t agree to lunch with Dean. It’s stupid. So stupid. Why doesn’t he care more? He grabs his keys and shuffles out the front door, intelligence be damned, Dean is cute as hell. 

* * *

 

He stands outside the restaurant nervously wringing his hands together. It was only after he’d exited his car in an excited stupor that he remembered the nasty abrasions that litter his face. He’s hoping maybe the makeup he’d applied earlier will keep Dean from observing that he got into another “fight.” Cas sees the Impala pulling up, and Dean steps out. Sunlight glitters in his jade eyes, and the sun shapes his toned arms with gold. He’s dressed in board shorts, flip flops and a blue t-shirt. He waves to Castiel from across the lot and jogs up to him, glancing briefly at the water that beats against the seashore beside the restaurant.

“Holy shit Cas,” Dean’s eyes widen comically as he approaches, “what the hell happened to your face?”

Let the record show that Castiel _sucks_ at makeup.

“So I’m in kickboxing,” Cas begins to spew up a horrible excuse for a lie, “And we did a self-defense exercise yesterday. I was the perpetrator and some of the students got a little rough.”

Dean stares at him, “Cas-”

“C’mon lets find a table.” Cas enthuses, cutting him off, “it’s pretty packed.”

Reluctantly, Dean follows him inside. They’re seated within a few minutes in a nice two-chair table on the outside patio. Castiel watches the crystal blue water as it laps up on the sand, admiring the way the sun brings out the freckles on Dean’s tanned skin. Dean orders two fish tacos and a bud light. Castiel orders fish and chips, lemonade and shrimp. By the time the food arrives, his stomach is churning with anticipation. He hasn’t eaten since the apple pie yesterday afternoon; Alastair doesn’t like watching Cas eat.

“Hungry?” Dean asks with a smile as he watches Cas devour his meal.

Cas nods, swallowing his mouthful, “I’m starving.”

“When was the last time you ate?”

Without really thinking Cas responds, “Apple pie yesterday.”

A frown creases Dean’s forehead, “Why haven’t you eaten since then?”

Cas swallows again, composing himself, “I guess I just uh...forgot to.”

Dean takes a bite of his taco and chews contemplatively. He eyes Castiel; bruised up face, scrawny body clad in long sleeves in 100 degree weather, nervous glint in his eyes as he bites into his food ravenously. He takes a few more bites, swallows, then says softly, “Hey Cas…”

“Yes?”

“My brother Sam...he used to be in your position. I could...I could get you help you know.”

Castiel’s back stiffens, shoulders squaring as he lifts his head robotically to stare at Dean, “What?”

“My little brother got into drugs when he was in high school. If you’re dealing...there’s probably a reason. We helped him, and he’s doing great. Would you consider-”

“Dean, I’m not on drugs.” Cas stares at him in shock, “I-you think I’m a drug dealer?”

“You’re not?”

“Is that why you’re hanging out with me? You want me to be your little charity case?” Cas demands, pushing his chair back with a screech.

“No no!” Dean insists, reaching out. He startles when Cas flinches away from his touch, “Cas no that’s not what this is. It’s just...you don’t expect me to believe that lame kickboxing story right? I thought maybe you got into a fight with a buyer or something...and you wear long sleeves to cover the track marks...it just-it just made sense. Please, that’s not why I like being with you.”

Cas hesitates, biting his lip, “I’m not on drugs. Nor am I selling them.”

“Okay I’m sorry, that was nuts Cas. Look if you don’t want to talk about it, we won’t. Okay?”

Cas scoots his chair back in, giving Dean a nervous look, “Promise to leave it alone?”

Dean nods, “Anything you want, just don’t leave okay?”

“Okay...so about your brother?”

“Yeah?”

“Was he really on drugs?”

“Yup. Started off with weed and escalated into heroin. His therapist said it was his way of coping after he saw some older kids playing smear the queer with me.”

“Smear the...huh?”

“Smear the queer, it was this game they used to play with me after I came out as bisexual. These guys would chase me, tackle me and beat me up.”

Cas grimaces, “Doesn’t sound like much of a fun game.”

“For them it was. I guess Sammy got real messed up seeing his big brother get hurt so much, and he wanted to forget that there are bad people out there.”

Cas thinks Alastair would’ve played that game in high school. He’d have pretended to be straight just so he could beat the snot out of some innocent kid.

"I’m sorry that they did that to you.” Cas tells him sincerely, hating the idea of anyone hurting Dean, “that must’ve been terrible. Didn’t you tell your parents?”

Dean scratches his neck, flushing red, “I...I got bullied a lot. I used to be much bigger, I mean I’m still a pretty big guy, chubby and all but I was really really big. I’d gotten picked on because of that for years, and my parents tried everything to get it to stop. It never worked. I figured it’d be the same with this, might as well let it run it’s course.”

“That’s awful Dean. You deserve much better.”

“Thanks Cas. So what about you, what was high school like for you?”

“Well much different than yours. My friends and I were a little like Sam. I don’t do drugs anymore, I don’t even drink now but we used to go to kickbacks and get stoned and drunk. I was crossfaded 90% of the time. I mean I smoke cigarettes now, but I’m not a delinquent. It was just my rebellious phase.”

Dean purses his lips, “Did you have a lot of sex?”

Castiel chokes, spluttering on his lemonade before composing himself, “What kind of question is that?”

“I don’t like to beat around the bush.”

“Yes. Yes I did.”

Dean grins, “With who?” 

Cas shrugs, “Anyone who was into it.”

“Nice. Very nice.”

“I take it you and your bullies weren’t having massive orgies?”

Dean chuckles, “Nope. Didn’t actually have sex until I turned twenty two.”

“And now you are?”

“Twenty three.”

Cas laughs, “Cute.”

“What kind of music do you like?” Dean inquires.

“Elvis is good. I like him.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow up dubiously, “You’re joking?”

Cas scowls, “king of rock n’ roll Dean.”

“Oh please! Chuck Berry beat that guy to the punch in every form of the phrase!”

“I know you didn’t just go there. _You Never Can Tell_ couldn’t hold a candle to _Blue Suede Shoes_!”

“Castiel,” Dean replies patiently, “I think we need to see other people.”

Cas laughs, stopping for a moment to appreciate how easy it is to be with Dean. How he doesn’t feel like he needs to watch what he says and tread lightly with his words out of fear of being beaten. How he can be himself, unapologetically.

It’s an unfamiliar, fucking fantastic feeling, being so free.


	3. Addicted to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for usual stuff, abuse and mature content!
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts! :)

Dean has a beautiful hammock in his backyard.

It’s by a tree that shields Castiel’s face from the sun so the slick dewey feeling of his sweat subsides a little. His small house is seaside, go figure, and Cas can hear the distant lapping of pleasant waves against the shoreline. There’s a fresh mist of salty sea air that seeps into his pores and invigorates him, much more freeing than the stuffed up condition of Alastair’s house. Dean’s different than Al. He’s young and loud and carefree and kind and absolutely enchanting. He’s everything Castiel wants and nothing he’ll get. But he tries to be around him as much as possible. As days melts into weeks and weeks turn into months, Cas and Dean grow much closer than he’d intended. He sneaks away every so often to be with him, they watch movies and take walks and Dean’s still teaching him to surf. He’s getting better now at sneaking out, and Al hasn’t hurt him anywhere visible since the one bad night with the cigarette burns.

Anyway, the hammock is lovely. The ropey sling coils around Castiel’s tired muscles as he settles into the shape of the hammock, feeling it shift underneath Dean’s weight as he climbs up beside Cas. The sun is glittering gold and shining fragments break through the green jade of the tall tree above them, reflecting off Dean’s viridescent eyes and making his stark freckles seem more potent. Dean’s laugh mingles with the summer air and breaks through the sleepy haze of warm weather that envelopes Cas. Such a beautiful laugh, Cas thinks. He’d like to hear that laugh every day for the rest of his life.

“So I think you’re ready to go solo on the board,” Dean says in reference to Castiel’s slight improvement with surfing over the past few months, “You’ve been doing great.”

Cas feels a grin peel across his face as he leans back against the sturdy hammock that Dean had built himself, “I think you’re wrong. I’m awful.”

“Okay maybe a little, but you’ll get there.” Dean pats his thigh warmly, and there’s a moment of utter and complete stillness where his fingers curl slightly around Cas’ faded jeans and rest there like they belong. And then he slides his hand away and smiles, “Maybe you’d like to try surfing in a bathing suit sometime instead of a damn wetsuit.”

Cas scowls, “We should scuba dive.”

“Why are you so insecure?”

Cas’ mouth falls slack, “I am _not_ insecure!”

“Mhm,” Dean mutters with a casual eye-roll, “You’re the epitome of self esteem.”

“I sense sarcasm. I don’t appreciate it.”

“C’mon Cas! You’re gnarly as hell and you act like you’re this ultra-conservative uptight turd.”

Cas sighs heavily, rolling slightly to the side so he can card his hand through Dean’s fine hair, “You’re so young.”

“You’re six years older than me Cas, don’t act so ancient.”

“Dean I’m almost thirty. I _am_ ancient.”

Dean scoffs in disbelief, crossing his arms as he leans into the feeling of Castiel’s fingers in his hair, “Thirty is not ancient. Sixty maybe but not...not thirty.”

“Compared to you kiddo.” Cas reminds him, poking his cheek playfully. Dean bats him away, wrinkling his nose in disdain. Cas finds himself laughing at the childish nature of Dean’s defensiveness.

“Y’know self confident people don’t call themselves ancient, when they aren’t.” Dean tells him matter-of-factly, “So my earlier statement stands true. You’re insecure.”

Cas throws his hands up in exasperation, “I cannot win with you.”

“Duh, I’m a winner.” Dean takes Cas’ wrist and slides closer to him so their noses brush at the tip. Hot, thick air wafts between them, but it does nothing to shatter the intimacy their closeness brings. Without really thinking about it, Cas leans towards him, eyes searching his face hungrily for something unknown to them both.

Dean’s mouth brushes against his, and there’s a brief moment of hesitation and uncertainty. His cool breath washes over Cas’ mouth, and all reluctance vanishes. Their lips mash together and there’s an instantaneous jolt of shock to Castiel’s nerves. His heart thunders in his chest. He hears bees buzzing a few paces away, and a soft breeze blows through his obsidian hair. Dean’s mouth tastes like cherries, probably a lingering flavor from the cherry soda he’d had an hour ago, which in theory is pretty gross, but Castiel can’t find an inch of his body to be repulsed. Dean’s hands are supple against his waist, but his fingers curl confidently around his hips and tuck Cas a little closer as he deepens the kiss. The hammock groans beneath them in protest of the quick movement, but they ignore it. For a few minutes, there’s nothing except Dean and Cas. It’s them, alone on an uncharted, unclaimed, intangible piece of nothingness that’s irrelevant in comparison to the way Dean’s lips feel.

And Dean pulls away ever-so-slowly, breathing out in reverence as his wistful, awed gaze casts over Castiel’s flushed cheeks. Cas breathes in the feeling of him, the vital, naive and yet sweet combination of Dean that makes his entire body tremble with heat and necessity.

But then, Cas realizes what the hell just happened. He just kissed Dean. He is in relationship. Castiel is in his third year of a relationship with someone else. And while that someone else may be a giant dick and Cas hates him, it’s not fair to Dean or Al. Maybe Al is right. Cas is just a stupid slut.

“Cas?” Dean asks breathlessly, his jade irises locked cautiously on Castiel’s whirlwind of expressions, “are you okay?”

Cas gnaws on his lower lip, shaking his head, “Dean I..I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“Oh god, you’re a woman? This always happens.”

“No.” Cas laughs a little, relaxing slightly at Dean’s lighthearted attempt at a joke, “it’s...it’s bad. Like, very bad. I really should’ve told you months ago when we first met.”

“Well go ahead, spill the beans.”

“Promise me you won’t be angry, please?”

“Why would I be angry Cas?” Dean’s tone softens by a fraction, his amused and amiable face changing swiftly to one of concern and soberness.

Taking a careful breath, Cas forces out the words, “I have a boyfriend.”

Dean pauses for a second uncomprehendingly, his expression utterly corkscrewed. Then, he licks one of his lips and nods contemplatively, “Alright.”

“Alright?” Cas demands, “ _alright_?”

“Well I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me before I made a move on you,” Dean replies, looking a little flushed, “it’s not like I’m gonna be pissed though.”

Cas stares, absolutely gobsmacked -and slightly annoyed that he’s just used that term to describe himself- and splutters out, “Are you serious?”

“Not a big deal Cas, we’ve been platonic enough. I can dial it back. I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside Cas shatters like broken glass. It’s not a bad feeling though, it’s almost like a dam cracking down the middle and dismantling. His lungs expand and air bursts free, spilling from his lips with connotations of unbridled joy. A relieved gasp of air chokes it’s way out of his lungs as he grabs Dean and clutches the stocky man against his body.

“Whoa!” Dean manages, although he promptly returns the embrace, “what was that for?”

Cas rolls on his side and continues sliding his fingers through Dean’s hair rhythmically, “I’m just so lucky to have you.”

Dean grins, freckles crinkling at the bridge of his sturdy nose, “You’re tellin me.”

“Shut up,” grinning, Cas uses his free hand to playfully slap Dean’s thick bicep, trying to ignore the excited spark that stings through his body as he touches that impressive muscle. Well, at least he can be honest with Dean. It’s a relief to know that not everyone is out to get him. 

* * *

 

 

“So Castiel? How have you been?” Anna asks kindly as she settles beside Cas on the couch with her tea. Cas doesn’t usually make tea, he’s more of a coffee person, but Anna’s gymnast lifestyle rejects anything with enough artificial sweeteners to give you cancer, like Castiel’s preferred hot beverage.

Cas shrugs, hoping the gesture is nonchalant enough to dispose of any concerns she has regarding the fresh discoloration on his jaw, “I’m good Anna. How are you?”

“I’m okay…” she hesitates, before seeming to make a decision, “I’m kind of worried.”

“What about?” Cas inquires as he nurses his coffee, feeling the sweetened liquid scald his throat but not minding it too much.

“You…” she picks at the material of her worn out yoga pants, glancing around Al’s living room as if she’s afraid _Big Brother’s_ got cameras everywhere or something to that ridiculous effect, “you and Alastair.”

“Spit it out.” Cas urges, although he has a sick feeling he knows where this is going.

Her eyes cast stealthily over the bruise on his face, and she proceeds with deliberate caution, “Gabriel and I have been talking...we’re concerned about the way you and Alastair...interact.”

Cas’ brows quirk up with confusion at the mention of his older brother, “Gabe’s back in town?”

“He has been for a few weeks. He wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him after your last altercation, but that isn’t prevalent right now. The concern remains, does Al treat you right?”

Cas grimaces in remembrance of his and Gabriel’s “altercation.” In reality it had been last Christmas when Gabe saw a nasty bruise on Cas’ neck that just wasn’t hidden well enough by his turtleneck and demanded to know it’s source. Of course Castiel had panicked and tried to play it off, but his big brother wasn’t listening. It escalated into an enormous fight that ended with both brothers snarling obscenities and throwing punches. He hasn’t seen Gabe since he’d moved to Sacramento a few weeks after the party.

Castiel licks some stray drops of coffee from his lips and considers Anna’s question carefully. Does Al treat him right? No. Not by a long shot. But what the hell is Anna going to do about it? If Cas involves her she’ll only get herself hurt, and Gabe too. The last thing any of his siblings need is to shoulder Castiel’s immense idiocy and terrible taste in partners.

“Yes.” Cas replies, and the word tastes like acid in his mouth.

Anna shifts on the couch into a criss-cross position, taking a sip of her tea and continuing to speak, “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that you got beat up by some random drunk stranger and that’s why we’ve been working on your self-defense these past few months. I don’t believe that you’ve lost all your cute baby fat because you’re eating healthy. I don’t think your conservative dresswear and injured exterior says anything close to what you’re telling me.”

“Then what do you think Anna?” Castiel demands sharply, wishing he didn’t have to be so curt with her when she’s only trying to help, but also knowing he can’t involve her.

“I think he’s abusive. I think he doesn’t let you eat and I think he hurts you into submission. I want to get you away from this environment Cas, but you need to let me in.”

“You’re wrong.” Cas growls, setting his piping hot mug down on the table and cursing himself because Al will be furious if there’s a coffee ring on the wood, “Alastair and I are fine. He’s my dream man.”

“Cas.” Anna sets her tea right down beside Cas’ and takes his hand, “Please don’t.”

Cas pulls his arm away from her and shakes his head, “Anna, you’re wrong.”

She reaches out and grabs his arm again. He tries to struggle, but it’s an effort in futility. She’s much stronger than him, he’s been alone with Al for two days and he’s eaten maybe once. Besides, she works out and he can’t even surf properly. Her fingers brush his sleeve, and then with a bout of visible courage, she pushes it up to reveal his arm. Her first instinct is a visible gasp, then a shudder, and an expression of someone who’s just seen a car wreck but can’t look away. Her eyes train on the abrasions that litter his pallor skin, the abundance of burns and bruises and the occasional cut here and there. Index sliding carefully over a collection of scars at his inner elbow, she sniffles loudly and blinks the wetness from her eyes.

“What have I done?” she croaks, “How could I let this happen?”

“Anna please,” Cas tries to pull his arm away, but she holds tight, jaw clenching as her horror is replaced with rage.

“How fucking dare he touch you?” she snarls, pulling Cas roughly to his feet in a manner that’s starkly similar to Al’s harsh handling, “how dare he? He thinks he has any right to hurt you!”

“ _Anna_ ,” Cas manages weakly, their eyes locking on one another as an understanding passes between them. She releases his arm and runs her hands through her long, brilliant red hair, swallowing hard.

“Pack your bags.” she tells him seriously, “we’re fucking leaving.”

Just as Cas is about to sputter out another incoherent protest, the front door swings open. It slams behind someone, and heavy footsteps thunder into the house.

“Castiel!” an angry voice shouts.

Cas freezes, eyes wide, “Anna, go.” he pleads.

She narrows her eyes, clenching her fists, “not on your fucking life Cas. Stay behind me.”

He wants to argue again, but Al enters the room, face red with anger. He must’ve had a bad day at work. His enraged gaze circles the room, taking in his surroundings. His eyes and Anna’s meet, and in an instant his expression smooths out and his posture relaxes. Anna does not mimic his easygoing attitude shift.

“Hello guys,” he says sweetly, a smile spreading across his reptilian face, “Cas you didn’t tell me you were inviting company.”

“Sorry.” Cas manages immediately, “I should’ve- I’m sorry-”

“Cas is gonna stay with me for a few days.” Anna interrupts him smoothly, although her scowl hasn’t lessened in the slightest, “our brother is in town. Sibling get together.”

Al’s back stiffens and his eyes carefully assess his options. Castiel can see him working through various scenarios in his twisted little head in which he prevents Cas from leaving the house, but he appears stuck, not wanting to make a scene in front of Anna, “that sounds lovely.” he finally decides, his smile resembling a grimace.

“Perfect. So Cas why don’t we get you packed and we’ll be on our w-”

“Hold on a second,” Al interrupts, “why don’t you come pick him up later? I’d like to eat dinner with my boyfriend before I spend a few days without him.”

Cas clenches his hand around Anna’s arm, letting her know it’s better to agree now then fight him for it. Al will let Cas leave later when Anna comes to get him, he knows this much. He also knows he’s in for a rough few hours before he leaves. Hours chocked full of pain and threats that if he doesn’t return, Al will find him and hurt everyone he loves.

Anna responds tersely, “I will be back at seven to pick him up.” Cas glances at the clock, it’s around 5:30. Alright, he can survive this.

“Sounds fine.” Al replies, his tone just as stiff and unpleasant. Anna leaves shortly after, promising Cas with earnest eyes that she’ll be back very soon. He nods in appreciation and watches her car speed off tensely. Then, he faces Al, who’s standing in the foyer with belligerence radiating from his stance.

“Did you tell her?” he demands angrily.

Cas quickly shakes his head, “No! She doesn’t know anything. She just thinks you’ve been hogging me.”

Al grabs his arm, sending thick thumps of pain up Cas’ entire side, “I swear to fucking god Castiel if you don’t come back, I will make sure you’re sorry.”

Cas nods fretfully, “I understand.”

“You fucking better.”

* * *

 

At promptly seven P.M. Anna arrives. She carries Cas’ bag for him like he’s an invalid, and she makes sure to shoot a sharp glare towards Al as they exit the house. Al spanks Cas as they’re exiting the front door, which makes the veins in her neck all the more prominent. The ride to her apartment is silent, and Cas is mostly apprehensive about seeing his brother tomorrow. He’s staying at a motel fairly close to Anna’s place, so the three of them are going to lunch tomorrow to ‘talk’ about some things. Cas is not looking forward to that lunch.

They trek up the familiar stairs that lead to Anna’s third floor apartment. Cas dutifully avoids any conversation that could lead to mentions of Al. Tonight, he’s escaping the clutches of his overbearing, abusive, asshole of a boyfriend. They reach her apartment number, and Anna fumbles with the keys in her purse, muttering something about needing a miniature storage unit for her bag. Cas chuckles, if not to settle the tense air between them, and watches her struggle to find the proper key. The door across from Anna’s opens slightly, and she lifts her head to look as a green-eyed boy with freckles exits, smelling freshly of an unfamiliar cologne and sweat. He’s bare chested, a shirt lazily tucked under his arm and his jeans sloppily buttoned.

“Hey Dean, it’s been a while.” Anna smiles at him, “Good to see you again. Have a good night with Benny I assume?” she wags her eyebrows suggestively at his lack of attire.

Dean’s not looking at her though, he’s staring directly at Cas.

“What are you doing here?” Cas demands, eyes wide.

Anna frowns at him like he’s made a social _faux pa_ , “Cas,” she tsks, “Benny is my neighbor, this is Dean, his friend. Dean, this is my brother Castiel.”

Castiel feels sick to his stomach at the thought of Dean in there fucking some stranger. And then he feels disgusted with himself for being sick, because Dean does not belong to him. He is young and single and gorgeous and absolutely entitled to as much casual sex as he can get his hands on.

“We’ve uh..we’ve met.” Dean tells her stiffly, and Cas is reminded of the kiss they’d shared on Dean’s hammock less than a week ago.

“Oh what a coincidence.” Anna smiles as she finally gets the door open, carefully setting Cas’ bag down inside, “glad to see you and Benny worked things out.” she says pleasantly, “haven’t seen you around here in three months.”

Three months. About the time Cas and Dean met.

Castiel feels sick all over again. Dean had given up Benny when he met Cas. And now that Cas has rejected him romantically… Cas swiftly, and quite rudely, turns and scurries into Anna’s apartment, afraid he’ll throw up on one of them.

He briefly hears Anna’s embarrassed apology, “Sorry Dean, he’s had a very long day. See you around okay?”

“Right...bye Anna.”

The door closes and Castiel flops down against the couch, sucking in a breath that physically hurts him.

“Do you two know each other well?” Anna asks as she heads into the adjoining kitchen to put some tea on.

Cas scrubs at his face and responds under his breath, “No. I guess we don’t.”


	4. Come Away to The Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's ch.4 More soon if you want! :)
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts

Cas is eager to get to lunch the next morning. He needs a little fresh air and some time away from the confined space of Anna’s apartment -that’s painfully close to where some dude was banging Dean last night- to clear his head. He’s very apprehensive about seeing his brother again, seeing as things have been tentative between them since last Christmas, but still, he’ll be glad to get his sibling back. He and Anna meet Gabriel at a nice beachside, outdoor cafe. It’s windy today, so Castiel’s long sleeved dark gray sweater is justified. Fall is slowly melting into winter, Cas’ favorite time of year. Not only because he can conceal his skin with conservative dress without anyone asking questions, but also because it’s a beautiful season. The decorations of Christmas, the Thanksgiving meals, the jubilance of the upcoming holidays that always puts Al in a good mood.

Gabriel gets to his feet when he sees them arrive; he looks the same as always. Toasted almond hair parted out of his face, golden eyes lighthearted yet serious at the same time. He pulls Anna in for a hug, and then turns to Cas, almost solemn.

“Hey there little brother.” he says softly. Castiel does not expect the surge of emotion that courses through him at the sound of those familiar words. He lurches forward without consciously intending to, and envelops his brother in a gigantic bear hug. Gabriel smells of cinnamon and cupcakes, a surprisingly comforting scent. Castiel has almost forgotten how much he misses his big brother with whom he was once very close.

“Hi Gabriel,” Cas breathes into his hair, “I missed you.”

Gabe’s grip on his back tightens just a fraction, “I’ve missed you too Cas.” They pull apart and sit down, Anna in between them. A waiter comes over and they place orders before beginning their discussion. “So I’m not one for small talk.” Gabriel reminds his siblings, taking a gulp of his surely over-sweetened lemonade, “what are we going to do about Alastair?”

Anna stares at Cas expectantly, but when he doesn’t speak she looks at Gabe, “I want to call the police on him.”

“No!” Cas cuts in, almost frantic, “n-no don’t do that.”

“And why the hell not?” she demands.

“I’m sure Cas has a good reason,” Gabe permits evenly.

“Why don’t you show him your arms?” Anna snaps at the silent Cas, “then let him decide?”

“His what?” Gabe inquires, looking completely lost.

Jaw clenched, Anna tersely responds, “Let him have a look Cas.”

Cas pulls his sleeves down a little lover over his hands, “Not here.” he whispers in a surprisingly small voice.

Her face softens, and she sighs heavily, “Cas I don’t mean to sound angry, I’m not at you. Just...I hate him for doing this to you. I wish _you_ were angrier.”

“I know.” he murmurs, his face feeling white hot under his sibling’s scrutiny, “alright…” taking a deep breath and pushing hair from his forehead, Cas leans over to Gabe, shielded by the table and his brother’s stocky shoulders. He holds his arm in front of Gabe’s stomach, and rolls his sleeve up with trembling fingers. Gabriel’s expression changes so rapidly it gives Castiel whiplash. First it’s mortified, then it’s puzzled, then it’s furious before it lands on melancholy.

“Oh Cas…” he whispers, running his index over the multitude of abrasions painted across Castiel’s skin, “Oh Cas no…”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Cas insists, pushing his sleeve back down to his wrist, “I don’t want to call the police on him, this could ruin his whole life. Let’s just...god just get me away from him.”

“We can do that.” Gabriel promises, glancing at Anna for confirmation. There’s an unspoken understanding that passes between them, eyes locked seriously, mouths pressed together in a tight line. Then, she nods surely and takes Castiel’s hand in hers. Her fingers are warm, and Cas leans into the touch, sighing.

“It’ll be okay Cas.” she promises him quietly, “we’re going to take care of you.”

* * *

 

Anna has to work early the next morning, she’s got a long day of exercise classes, but she encourages Cas to go out and do something. He mostly just lounges around her apartment until noon. She’s not big on cleaning up, never has been, so he takes the liberty of policing up around the apartment. Gabriel, Anna and Cas plan to go over to Al’s together sometime this week and move Cas out without making a big stink. Naturally Al is going to freak out, but Anna tells Cas if he gets too out of control, the police are getting called. Cas doesn’t care what happens, he’s just glad to have his siblings by his side.

After Cas has tidied up he showers, carefully scrubbing over his body with Anna’s soft loofah, making sure to be tender and gentle around his bruised up skin. He rinses off, relishing in the warmth of the shower and feeling a strange sense of longing for Al’s voice rushing him to finish up and come to bed. He knows that’s stupid, and he should feel only hatred for the disgusting douchebag whom he’d once called his lover, but there’s a tugging in his heart that makes him miss small moments. A part of him aches for the sickening feeling of Al’s rugged hands on his hips. It grounded him. It reminded him that he should stay humble, it made him feel like he was getting what he deserved for being self-centered and conceded and slightly unfaithful. Now who will keep him in line?

Sighing, Cas shuts off the water, shivering quickly before pulling a towel around his waist. He steps into the bathroom, and tightens the towel’s grip on his waist just slightly before heading into the main apartment.

And walking right into Dean.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Cas shrieks, grabbing at the nearest blanket draped over Anna’s couch and pulling it around his exposed upper body.

Dean’s eyes linger on his now covered chest for a second before he splutters out, “Benny waters her plants, he asked me to do it this afternoon since he got called into work. He’s a doctor.”

“I already did it.” Castiel snaps, tugging the blanket tighter around him, “you and your little fuck buddy can stay out.”

Dean’s expression morphs into one of confusion and hurt, “Cas what-”

“Nothing!” Cas growls, gripping the blanket with white knuckles, “just- I’m naked Dean!”

“Alright Cas...uh, sorry.”

“Wait,” Castiel straightens a little, anger forgotten as he processes what Dean said, “Benny is a doctor?”

“Yeah, he’s one of the top surgeons at San Diego Memorial.”

That can’t be possible, no twenty-something kid is going to be a _surgeon_. No way. Especially not a top surgeon. Benny’s got to be older than Dean...significantly older.

“How old is he?”

Dean shifts on his feet, crossing his arms, “Why does that matter Castiel?”

“Jesus Dean, how old is he?”

Dean’s arms unfold and his bites his lower lip hard, “He’s forty six.”

“He’s old enough to be your father!”

“My dad is forty _eight_ ,” Dean snaps, and then grimaces as he realizes that jab didn’t exactly help his case, “I don’t see why that matters anyway.”

“You’re too young for him,” Cas stammers in disbelief, “he’s more than half your age.”

“So what? You’re thirty and we made out.”

“I’m _twenty nine_ ,” Cas enunciates carefully, “Six years is much different than _twenty_ years, and that’s not-we’re not- he’s too old for you.”

“Put the dick away.” Dean snarls, “it’s none of your business, besides I’m over 18, so it’s nobody’s business but mine and Benny’s.” he throws his hands up in annoyance, “And we’re not even dating. We’re just-”

“Fucking.” Cas snipes, self-consciously pulling the blanket just a bit tighter around him so his body is concealed, “you’re fucking a guy who is quite literally, twice your age. That’s dysfunctional Dean.”

“Don’t talk to me about dysfunctional,” Dean snaps, “if your relationship was so good you’d have told me about it the moment we met. You’ve been flirting with me for months, that sound functional to you?”

 _You’ve got no idea_ , Cas thinks, cringing at the soft wool blanket rubbing against his burns.

When Castiel doesn’t reply, Dean sighs heavily, anger seeming to dissipate. He scrubs the back of his neck with his palm, gnawing on his lip anxiously, “Look Cas, I don’t want to fight with you over this crap. We’re friends, we should be able to talk.”

Cas sighs softly, knowing Dean is right, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...pried. What you do and who you do it with isn’t my business. Why don’t I uh...get dressed and we’ll do something?”

Contemplatively, Dean shifts again, and then nods once, “Alright. Yeah. I’ll just...wait here then.”

Cas cringes as Dean gingerly sits down on the couch to wait. Once alone in the privacy of Anna’s extra room, he sheds the now damp blanket and his towel, replacing them with black slacks and a long-sleeved gray sweater. Praying that Dean hadn’t seen too much when Cas was exposed, he returns to the living room after tossing both the towel and the blanket into the laundry pile. Dean is still sitting on the couch, scrolling absently through his phone.

“Let’s go kiddo,” Cas says, patting Dean’s head as he walks by. Dean jumps to his feet eagerly, and Cas has to smile as he stumbles a little.

“Bowlegs,” Dean grumbles, “shit for balance.”

Castiel chuckles as Dean follows him out the front door. 

* * *

 

They end up on the beach again. It seems like they always end up here. Dean loves it, Cas loves it, so there's no reason for them not to really. They walk along the shoreline barefoot, letting the water pool around their toes. Cas curls his feet into the cool, moist sand, relishing in the softness of it as it laps up around his ankles where his pant legs are rolled up slightly. The water is chilly, but the sun is shining, combatting the cool breeze and shivery water. Cas lights a cigarette as they walk, knowing he can’t do it around his health-nut sister. Probably with good reason, second hand smoke is in fact a proven killer.

“So,” Dean says absently, playing with a sandy shell as they walk, “Tell me about your boyfriend.” Cas hesitates. He’s a piece of shit jerk who kicks the shit out of me when I get too independant.

“He’s nice.”

“Nice?” Dean demands, eyebrows quirking up as he watches Cas puff out an exhale of smoke, “C’mon I need a little more than that. What’s he look like?”

“He’s not much older than me, a few years, but he has forehead wrinkles and frown lines.” Cas inhales deeply and lets his breath out, blowing the excess smoke away from Dean’s face, “I don’t like them.”

Dean snorts, “You sound smitten.”

Cas licks his lips, holding the almost finished cigarette between his index and middle finger, “He’s...complicated.”

“You’re complicated,” Dean mutters under his breath.

“I heard that shithead.”

Dean scoffs, but he’s smiling, “Well you are.”

“How so?”

“First you get annoyed with me for not..uh, _seeing_ someone who’s appropriate, yet you won’t even tell me about your significant other.”

Cas decides a subject change is in order, “How did you meet Benny?”

“Cas-”

“I’ll tell you about Al if you tell me about Benny. Deal?”

Dean sighs, “Al is your boyfriend?”

“Yep. Now, how’d you meet Benny?”

“I broke my arm last year, he was on call and the x-ray guy was busy, so he fixed me up.”

Cas strives diligently not to judge, “And the first time you guys…?”

Dean’s face burns red, “We didn’t fuck until a few weeks later when he took my cast off. I was twenty two then-”

“Didn’t you say you lost your virginity when you were 22?” Cas inquires, and then his face grows pallor, “Oh my god you lost it to someone your dad’s age!”

Dean’s cheeks somehow become more red, “Shut up!”

“Is he the only person you’ve slept with?” Cas asks in disbelief.

Dean’s face might actually turn into a tomato, “Cas I-”

“Oh my god he is!”

“This is not fun,” Dean rubs his face shamefully, “I’m not exactly a casanova!”

“Clearly,” Cas scoffs, “why aren’t you and he dating then?”

Dean stops short and a surprised choking sound makes it’s way out of his throat as he drops the seashell. His face pales, making his freckles are the more prominent against his usually golden face.

“Dean?” Cas places his hand on Dean’s thick arm, shaking him out of his stupor.

“S-sorry,” Dean swallows visibly, “He’s uh..Benny’s...Benny is married.”

_Holy shit._

“He’s _married?_ ”

“With two kids.”

“Oh...oh my...oh Dean…”

Dean squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, “I know. I’ve certainly got a type huh?”

“What do you mean?”

“Older. In a relationship.” Dean huffs his breath out dejectedly and opens his eyes, the jade irises unmoving from Cas’ face as salty sea mist splashes against Dean’s soft jaw, “I’m a mess.”

“ _You’re_ a mess?” Cas shakes his head, taking Dean’s face in his hands, “You’re not a mess Dean.”

Dean shakes his head, running a hand through his fine, sandy hair, “You don’t understand man, I...when you told me you had a boyfriend and I was so calm...I...it wasn’t because I planned to lay off.” Cas can hear his teeth grind together, and he flinches at the sound, “I was still going to try and...to try to-”

“I get it.” Cas assures him quietly, “you weren’t going to just be my friend.”

“I’m sorry,” Dean falls to his butt in the sand, teeth grinding even harder as Cas sinks down beside him, “I- I shouldn’t...I’m messed up, alright?”

“It’s okay, stop grinding your teeth,” Cas chides, pleased when Dean obliges, “you have...unique taste.”

“ _Infidelity_ is not a taste Castiel,” Dean hisses angrily, “I’m a homewrecker.”

“No shush no,” Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, which seems to soothe the unsettled boy, “you haven’t wrecked any homes. Benny’s still married and my home was wrecked way before I met you.”

Dean eyes Castiel cautiously, “What do you mean?”

Cas silently curses himself for being such an idiot. He cards through a collection of viable lies he’s got stored up, and vomits one out to Dean, “I just mean that Al and I...we’re breaking up anyway.” Well it’s not a complete lie, Cas is planning to leave Alastair. It’s also not exactly the whole truth, but Cas figures that it’ll have to do for now.

Dean’s forehead crinkles with a frown, “Really? Why?”

Cas sighs heavily, “He’s a sucky boyfriend.”

Dean sniffs indignantly, shoulders stiffening, “What’s he do?”

“Nothing, it...it doesn’t matter.”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, seeming to contemplate something. The patter of waves infiltrates the silence, and clouds begin to roll across the sun, darkening Dean’s viridescent eyes. Then, in a solemn voice, he murmurs, “I saw them Cas.”

“Saw what Dean?”

“The bruises, the burns, the cuts…” he swallows hard, and Cas watches his adam's apple bob unevenly, “did... _he_ do that?”

“Dean he’s not-”

“It’s not drugs. It’s not your family, because Anna’s a goddamn saint. You can’t do that shit to yourself Cas so what the fuck is it then?”

Cas cringes away, embarrassed for being so frightened but also startled by Dean’s outburst. He bites down on his lip, taking a shaky breath and for some goddamn reason he feels like he can trust Dean. Why, he doesn’t know. Maybe it’s the innocent nature of Dean’s naive, youthful expression. Maybe it’s the serene undertone to the excited glisten in his eyes, or maybe it’s the comforting crinkle of freckles across the bend in his nose. Either way, Cas manages, “Yeah he...he hurts me.”

Castiel has known Dean for three months. He’s known Anna for 27 years and it took him forever to be able to spill the secret to her. How in God’s name is he so easily spilling his guts to Dean? He looks back at Dean, whose expression is too complex to decipher. His jaw is clenched, eyes on the horizon, lips pressed in a tight line and he blinks misty air out of his verdant eyes. This is so unlike him, usually he’s talkative and loud and teasing, but the silence that envelops the air could be cut with a knife.

“Say something?” Cas pleads softly, his timid voice shattering the silence painfully.

Dean rests his hand on his knees, sand sticking to the hair on his bare legs, “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“How you let him treat you that way. The things he’s done to you…” Dean’s breath exits his lungs slowly, and he scrubs at his mouth with his free hand, “I want to beat him with a fucking surfboard.”

Cas lets out a short, bitter laugh, “That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m not kidding. Guys like him..they’re...he’s a _bully_.”

Cas vaguely remembers Dean mentioning having been bullied severely in school, and can appreciate that Al’s behavior must be fairly reminiscent of bullies. Cas also remembers thinking he could totally see Alastair bullying Dean the way he’d described. He wonders if this is personal to Dean for more than one reason.

“He’s a fucking bully,” Dean snarls, “I hate bullies, I hate fucking bullies. What did you say his name was?”

“It doesn’t matter Dean,” Cas insists, “he and I...I swear we’re done.”

“Tell me his fucking name.” Dean snarls, fists clenching.

“Why do you want to know his name?”

“He hurt you.”

“Dean n-”

“Dammit Cas! Just fucking tell me okay?!” Dean's urgent, furious tone is so uncharacteristic. 

Cas isn’t sure why the hell he listens, but he stupidly responds, “Alastair Parker.”

Dean parts his lips, licking his mouth slowly, “Alastair Parker.” he appears to be tasting the name.

“If I ever meet him Castiel,” Dean says, his expression disturbingly minacious, “He’ll be fucking sorry.”


	5. Ordinance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, and how short this chapter is!
> 
> More soon if you want :)'
> 
> Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts! :)

Cas can’t remember the last time he was this excited about sex.

Dean’s fingers are slowly making their way up his thighs, friction coursing through his body as the calloused palms of Dean’s hand stroke his jeans. His heart thumps erratically as sand dampens his shirt, cushioning his head. Dean is on top of him, pressing hot kisses down his jaw towards his neck. Cas stares over his shoulder at the dark waves and multitude of sparkling stars in the sky. The beach is deserted now. No late night surfers, no lifeguards, no tourists poking about. Dean and Cas are nestled in the sand beside one of the lifeguard posts, frantically kissing one another and pressing their bodies together as if the separation would suffocate them. He isn’t sure how this happened really. They’d just spent all day talking and it led to heated, passionate making out which appears to be heading into sex. Cas is very pleased with this development, and since Dean’s already seen his marred body, there’s no reason to hide it now.

“You sure about this?” Dean breathes, eyes searching Cas’ face in the dark. For what, Castiel doesn’t know.

Cas nods eagerly, “Yes. I haven’t wanted sex in a while. Now I do.”

Dean offers up a nervous smile, and the unsure glaze in his jade eyes reminds Castiel that he’s only slept with one person. Maybe it’s not Cas who’s the hesitant one.

“Are _you_ sure?” Cas inquires, scrutinizing Dean’s face, freckles bathed in the pale moonlight.

“I’m fine,” Dean huffs out roughly. Cas watches his adams apple jerk in his throat as he swallows hard.

“Hey Dean, if you aren’t up for this you have to be honest.” Cas whispers, placing his hands on either side of Dean’s face, “I understand.”

Dean’s eyes squeeze shut, his teeth clench, and he tersely responds, “I’m fine.”

When Dean makes no other movement to further the foreplay, Cas murmurs, “Does Benny get angry when you want to stop?” Dean’s eyes pull open, and he stares down at Castiel’s face. There’s a thick silence that lays heavily upon Castiel’s already hammering heart, and makes beads of sweat pool around his hairline. Dean still says nothing.

Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s fine hair, “Al gets mad at me too. When he’s in the mood it’s like...it’s like I’m not even real to him. I’m not a person with feelings.”

Castiel’s hands slowly card down Dean’s scalp, and Dean shudders at the tender touch, “but that’s not right. People shouldn’t take advantage of other people. People shouldn’t use one another like they’re tools. I won’t do that to you Dean, I’d never do that to you.”

Dean nods carefully, lower lip trembling, “Cas I...I wouldn’t do that to you either. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m sorry about me and Benny-”

“No no,” Cas shakes his head, pressing a finger to Dean’s shapely mouth, “you have nothing to apologize for. I don’t own you.”

Dean shivers, “I’m sorry.”

“About what Dean?”

“The...the sex.”

Cas offers him a soft smile, pulling Dean down beside him and curling up to his chest, fingers still tangled in Dean’s sandy hair, “This is nice Dean, just this.”

Dean nods once, eyes closing. Cas wonders if they’re going to fall asleep right here on the beach. He wouldn’t be surprised; it’s soft and warm and the patter of the ocean at their feet is calming. Dean’s heart thumps loudly in time with the pooling waves. His skin smells like salt water and sand. The moon casts reflective light against his eyes, which make them swim like fish in the sea. His breathing puffs out in time with the current. It’s as if Dean and the beach are one, correlating endlessly. Both beautiful, both fascinating, but only one eternal. Cas wishes that Dean was the eternal one. 

* * *

 

The early morning surfers awaken Cas. He grumbles in complaint, rubbing sand out of his eyes and brushing off his dirty clothes. Dean’s already up, stretching and popping the tendons in his thick body.

“Let’s go back to my place,” Dean encourages, leaning down to help Cas up, “it’s a few blocks down the shoreline.”

Cas nods eagerly, thinking about the lovely hammock in Dean’s yard. They walk hand-in-hand down the boardwalk until Cas’ phone rings. He pulls it out and answers, “Hello?”

“Castiel!”

“Anna? What’s wrong?”

“Where are you! Gabriel and I have been panicking for hours! You didn’t answer your phone! We thought-we thought-”

“You thought I went back to Alastair,” Cas scowls, and Dean’s eyebrows quirk up, “listen Anna, I’m with a friend. I’m fine. I’ll call you later.”

“But Castiel-”

“Bye.” Cas presses END and shoves his phone back in his pocket petulantly. How could Anna think he’d be so stupid?

“So your family knows..” Dean says softly as they continue walking, no longer hand-in-hand.

Cas nods, “My brother Gabriel and I got into a dispute over it last Christmas. He suspected that the bruises on my neck weren’t accidental...we stopped talking for a while. Then, a few days ago Anna came over and told me of her suspicions. We told Al that I was staying with Anna for some family bonding...he expects me back in two days.”

Dean grabs on to Castiel again, squeezing his hand as if to anchor him here, “You’re not going back.”

Cas fidgets at the determination in Dean’s voice, “Dean, you don’t understand.”

“Bullshit I don’t.” Dean snaps, pulling Cas a little closer, “He’s a jackass and I’m not letting you go back to him.”

“I don’t want to go back,” Cas snaps, “But he’ll...hurt my family if I don’t.”

“So call the cops.” Dean urges, “You’ve got the evidence under your sweater.”

Cas flinches at that, but responds, “I don’t want to ruin his life Dean.”

“Why the hell not?” Dean demands, “he’s fucking hurt you! He treats you like trash, and you want to preserve his freedom?”

“Please don’t get angry.” Cas pleads softly, closing his eyes against the harsh tone of Dean’s voice. His words are softer this time, “I just want you to be okay.”

Cas forces the smile onto his face and tightens his grip on Dean’s hand, “I’m going to be fine. Let’s get back to your place now, I’m hungry.”

Dean seems reluctant to leave it at that, but with Cas’ proclamation of hunger, he seems to cave. He nods, gripping Castiel’s hand and beginning to walk again. They reach Dean’s home within twenty minutes, and when they arrive there’s an unfamiliar car parked in the driveway beside Dean’s Impala.

“Who’s that?” Cas inquires.

“Sammy’s here,” Dean frowns, “I wonder why…”

“Who’s Sammy?”

“Oh, right. My big brother.”

“The one who did drugs…?”

Dean nods solemnly, “Yeah. Emphasis on _did_.”

Cas swallows, “Is he...um...okay?”

Dean snorts as they step up the porch to the front door, “He’s a paralegal.”

“Oh. Oh of course. Sorry.”

Dean fiddles with the lock until the door swings open and Cas follows him in. They trek through the house until they reach the kitchen, where a tall, broad-shouldered man with shaggy brunette hair is sitting at the table. He’s nursing a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, scrolling through his phone with the other. He wears a pleated navy blue suit that accents his hazel eyes nicely, although the pale yellows in Dean’s kitchen combined with the brilliant sunlight outside wash out his peach skin.

When they enter, his head shoots up, “Hi Dean.”

“Heya Sammy.”

“Who’s this?” Sam rises to his feet, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin at Castiel. On his feet, he is much taller, and Cas finds himself shrinking away from his towering stature.

“This here’s Castiel, Cas for short. He’s a friend of mine.”

Sam’s arm glides forward and he holds his hand out confidently, “Hello Castiel, it’s nice to meet you.”

Cas quickly shakes his hand before pulling away, a gesture he hopes doesn’t appear rude, “Thank you. Same to you Sam.”

“So what’s up?” Dean asks, as he gestures for Cas to sit back down across from Sam, who’s returning to his seat. Cas does so anxiously, avoiding eye-contact with the sasquatch in the suit.

“Well,” Sam takes a sip of his coffee and leans back into Dean’s chair. For a second, Cas is afraid he’ll break it, but the squeaking legs settle and Sam continues, “Me and Jess are working on this case right now, it’s a tough one. This guy claims he was at _La Jolla_ shores on the night his wife was murdered with a surfboard.”

“Murdered with a surfboard?” Dean asks in disbelief, setting a mug of coffee on the table in front of Cas and going back to the stove, “that’s kinda awesome Sam.”

Sam chuckles once, a serious but amused sound, “I figured you’d think as much. I’m not supposed to disclose private information about the case, but Castiel here doesn’t seem like a chatterbox, and you I know I can trust. So I just needed to ask if you’ve seen this man around _La Jolla._ I know it’s not your usual surfing place, but maybe you’ll recognize him.”

Sam digs into the pocket of his crisp suit jacket and produces a small, crinkled photograph. He passes it over to Dean, who scrutinizes it carefully before shaking his head at Sam, “I dunno Sammy, I might’ve seen him once or twice on the waves. I think I remember a guy with a funky scar on his cheek here. When was the murder?”

“It was last Wednesday.”

Dean purses his lips, then sighs, “I was working at the bookstore. Couldn’t tell ya if I saw him. Sorry Sam.”

“That’s perfectly alright Dean,” Sam assures him as he takes the photo back, “I’m going to put your statement on the record though. You mentioned having noticed him before, which means he’s prone to going to _La Jolla_. That alone helps his alibi become more realistic.”

“You think he did it?” Dean inquires, setting a plate of toast and eggs in front of Cas, who quietly thanks him, intrigued by the conversation but feeling too out of place to speak up.

Sam sighs heavily, rubbing a hand across his well-manicured face, “I’m not sure.” he admits dubiously, “I mean, the wife was cheating, but he seems too mild-mannered to murder.”

“Who was she cheating with?”

“Her boss apparently. Some guy named Alastair Parker, but he wasn’t harmed.”

Castiel promptly begins choking on his toast and has to gulp half of his scalding hot coffee down to salve his breathing. He gasps for air as Dean stares at his brother in horror, “you’re shitting me?”

Sam frowns, “What’s going on? Do you know him?”

“Know him? Cas just dumped him!”

“It’s not official yet,” Cas manages to croak out, which makes Dean scowl.

He continues, “Are you sure that’s who she was-”

“Among other men, yes. He was the main affair though. I take it you didn’t know?”

Cas’ insides feel like they’ve been thrown into a blender and made into an intestine smoothie. All this time Al had been cheating, with a _woman_? And...and after he burned Castiel with cigarettes for getting Dean’s number!?

Cas slowly inhales, trying to settle his nerves and focus on what’s important, “Have you met with Alastair?”

Sam shakes his head, “he refuses to make a statement.”

Cas fidgets, “He’s not a...a suspect, is he?”

Sam’s brows pull down once more, “You know...I never actually thought of him as one. I don’t know what motive he’d have to kill her...maybe she tried to end things. Is he a violent person?”

Cas shudders, “You could say that.”

Sam rises from his chair suddenly, eyes widening, “Cas...I think you may have just saved an innocent man from incarceration. We’ll see. Dean, see you later!”

Without any further word, Sam flies out of the house. Cas grunts, dropping his fork in disbelief. Not only has Al been cheating with a now dead woman, Cas has just managed to convince Sam that he’s a possible murderer. Great.

“Well…” Dean scratches his neck anxiously, “So much for protecting Al from prison.”

Castiel hopes his glare lets Dean know that this isn’t funny. What the hell is he going to do?


End file.
